


Service Bell

by tyd44



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Basically, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Face Punching, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Parties, Rich Kids Club AU, TENNIS??????, a lot of focus on that actually, and jb is young rich and an avid introduction to philosophy attendee, basically pt 2, i get poetic at the dumbest parts i'm sorry, i swear i wrote most of this before rae sremmurd released the swang mv, jinyoung is young rich and emotional, mentions of jinyoung in other relationships!, question mark, the previous title was Sex Book Club, why is sport always involved in my stories i hATE SPORT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-04 14:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10281368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyd44/pseuds/tyd44
Summary: Melancholy is not a stranger to the rich, young and lonely Park Jinyoung. Soon enough, neither will be Im Jaebum.





	1. preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxxing (gayfantasticfour)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayfantasticfour/gifts).



> a birthday gift for joey
> 
> always love,
> 
> xxxx

 

 

 

 

 

Park Jinyoung had just turned twenty.

 

It’s been a week since he had returned from his birthday-trip to the Mediterranean and, even after days long of nerve-wrecking impressions, he’s not keen on deciding whether he regrets going.

Still, the alternative of him throwing the traditional massive party where he’d find himself dancing drunk on top of dining tables surrounded by everyone he does and doesn’t know didn’t feel particularly appealing either, so when his mother sat him down and suggested a private, family celebration, he found himself a new option to get away from his feelings.

It _was_ a good getaway, since every business conversation and questions about his future education initiated by his father occupied him enough for him not to think about how Wonpil broke up with him two months prior, certain memories blinking away behind his eyes one by one as he avoided his mother’s gaze and instead focused his attention at the far, aquamarine horizon cutting the view on his right in half. He’d shift in his chair to lean over the terrace fence, the rough and burning hot metal digging into the meat of his forearm, and let his sisters deal with his father getting louder and angrier over Jinyoung sort of ignoring him as he stared at the waves, deep blue crashing into disintegrating white and making his ribcage feel a little less dragged down and filled with lead.

The water streaming down his face right now induced a similar feel of lightness in his chest, despite it happening in the cold, echoing of his shower instead of the choking, pretty heat of an Ionian sea beach. He was feeling pretty jet-lagged — his warm palms pressed against his eye sockets as he tried to forget the welcoming sun, the feel of the almost edible looking caramel colored sand grinding against his heels, the cat naps he took at noon in the caressing breeze shade.

Next, he drops down his head and opens his eyes so he can match the sound raining around his ears with the image, him standing under the shower so long the dissociation of space and time made him uncomfortable, and when he gasps for some air he notices yet another horizontal line, the one edging that surface area the waistband of his swimsuit used to take. He admires the distinct tan line he managed to acquire, it ornamenting his hips and easing his thoughts in a way of making him feel physically changed, thus more physical, more real, and less see-through and awkwardly looming.

Joints kind of swollen and achy, he lifts his hand slow and traces it with his fingertips and the expected touch on his skin doesn’t produce the shuddering effect he secretly wished for. Suddenly, another image stains his eyelids and he visualizes his ex-boyfriend in the place of his hand — the top of his head to be more specific, as when the imaginary kisses got interrupted by the lift of the imaginary Wonpil’s gaze, Jinyoung realized he has trouble remembering the details of his face and the whole occasion went into a blur akin to a dripping wet aquarelle when he tried remembering his smile too.

 

He decides his shower his over, and stumbles out of the bathroom in order to head to his bed.

 

 

 

Hidden deep under the covers, Jinyoung feels the puddles pooling over his head where his hair was still damp, strands uncared for flowing in different directions as he makes himself comfortable. He pulls his knees close to his chest, quiet of his bedroom diffused even more in the multiple layers wrapped around him and he moves some bangs away from his face while the thumb of the hand busy with his phone expertly taps around his home screen.

He opens a certain chatroom.

 

**wang, 1:34am:**

did you get my present yet? haha

**pepi, 1:36am:**

i didn’t :(

**wang, 1:55am:**

really!!!????

i hope you like it when it arrives

i know it’s not what you’ve wanted, but i promise i’ll work on that one next year~

**pepi, 2:12am:**

it’s okay haha you haven’t missed much this year either…

**wang, 2:30am:**

you’ll tell me about it anyway, okay?

**pepi, 2:35am:**

yeah, sure :)

_seen by wang_

 

He checks the clock in the top right corner of the display and notices he hasn’t heard from Jackson for full twelve hours. It’s not the first — Jinyoung sometimes didn’t get a single message from him for a whole month — nor is it going to be the last, seeing that Jackson is again running for the Olympic gold this season.

It’s been years since Jinyoung first had to say goodbye to his best and probably only real friendship, him reminiscent of the times when they were thirteen and just hanging out around Jackson’s gym, embarrassingly carefree. He, although used to the fact that he, sort of, lost his friend to professional sport, still had trouble with wholeheartedly supporting Jackson’s dream of setting grounds in the world history of fencing. Especially when he was so far away at moment when he needed him most, when he knew Jackson would be the one to immediately pull him into a hug and ask him what’s wrong and make Jinyoung smile against his chest so wide and true it made his lips crack on a painful, striped color red.

 

But it’s okay.

Because now the phone is tossed away farther onto the mattress and when he turns on his side with the blankets following him like a royal cape of sadness he is free to dream his way into distant warmths, the paths leading to them haunted by that unfamiliarly familiar reek of old paper that seems to linger around him ever since he arrived home.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

“He’s totally looking this way.”  
  
Jinyoung felt his eyebrows tensing towards each other at the way his companion was trying to be discreet at the very moment, the tall boy throwing small elbowing movements and leaning his head down in a way some people would find even too intimate. Still, when it regarded drama and gossip, no physical privacy was ever safe from invading to Kim Yugyeom.

“You should totally _shut up_.”  
  
“Hyung,” the young boy would roll his eyes at the childish tone in Jinyoung’s voice. “I’m _serious_.”

Drawing unsettling patterns into the red clay with his feet, Jinyoung watched his devastatingly white tennis shoes become not-so-white tennis shoes and wheezed as an introduction to his upcoming expression of irritation and disbelief, but changed his mind with a decision of not voicing it and therefore did not interrupt Yugyeom’s following elaboration.  
  
“I was only _suspecting_ he was a creep but,” the boy made an awkward hand gesture as he realized he might’ve picked the wrong words. “Now? I’m convinced.”  
  
Jinyoung managed not to burst into laughter too obviously.

“I’m telling you,” Yugyeom gets excited again, “I haven’t seen him at the balcony the whole time you were gone. Meaning _weeks_. And the moment you come back? _Bam!_ Here he is, right at his spot, yet again, watching you play.”

With a pout, Jinyoung slowly raises his stare, his heart thumping dully as his pupils narrow at all the sunshine dancing around the edges of the unattractive grey-brick wall, and when he finally locates the (already familiar) ruffled hair through the dark metal railing, he is surprised to see the eyes of Im Jaebum already looking in his direction.  
  
“Shit,” he mouths enough for Yugyeom to hear and not enough for the balcony boy to see as he squints hard, his gaze trailing around and making it look as if he was looking at nothing in particular and definitely _not_ trying to check whether Yugyeom’s _he’s basically undressing you with his eyes whenever you play tennis_ story true or not.

Yugyeom, on the other hand, chuckles freely.

“See? I told ya.”

“So what? Maybe he’s just into ...tennis,” Jinyoung blurts out with not much effort and knows already how unconvincing the line sounds.  
  
“I think he’s just into _you,_ ” Yugyeom is both kind and unkind to respond, him again leaning in uncomfortably close and Jinyoung now feels overly teased.

Giving him another squinted and denying glare, Jinyoung looks down again to survey the dirt surrounding his feet. A whole month since he’d returned, it’s been a sunny and hot October so the ground glowed a summery orange and his skin glimmered in sweat, the way his bangs stuck to his forehead somewhat diluting his thoughts.

Yugyeom, completely dry next to him, had his hands on his hips as he unconsciously checked out Jinyoung’s opponent on the other side of the net. The girl was busy with retying her ponytail as she bent down a little in order to catch all of the long hair, and Jinyoung did his best not to stare at the sweat drops rolling down her now more revealed thigh because he knew the rest of the club was probably already watching the scene unfold, most teenagers hanging around the courts gossiping and eyeing other people’s play.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he also glances up and over to Jaebum and is restlessly surprised to see him focused on his book. Or on Jinyoung. The angle of his reading makes it hard to conclude and, after Yugyeom’s rant, he isn’t sure of anything anymore.

“In any way,” Jinyoung barks and seems to wake up Yugyeom from some kind of an adolescent trance. “Since other people are waiting for me to leave,” he lightly but repeatedly shoves at the boy’s broad chest as a sign, “shouldn’t you shoo away and let me pack my stuff?”

Accompanied by a playful groan, Yugyeom throws an arm over Jinyoung’s narrow shoulders and starts dragging him around in small circles. “You know what? I think I wanna have some fun first.”

Jinyoung sighs against the newly formed headlock around his neck and tries not to fight it too hard since he knows any attempt is quite vain.  
  
“Hyung!” Yugyeom yells, and it’s casual for Jinyoung until he realizes it’s not aimed at him and his heart immediately picks up an alarmed pace.  
  
They’re facing the balcony when Yugyeom finally relaxes his hold a bit and Jinyoung’s first actual breath enters his body with his eyes directly aimed at Jaebum’s confusion.

“Jinyoung hyung here wants to ask you something!” Yugyeom shouts without waiting for any kind of a response and Jinyoung feels every muscle in his body flipping over.

The balcony boy adorably (or creepily?) brings himself toward and over the railing with a silent question mark on his face and Jinyoung decides to play along with what comes up first on his mind.

“What… What’re you reading?”

Shock is what seems to burn in Jaebum’s eyes at first, them blown open and processing a lot of information, but what comes next is a dry sound of an unexpressed laughter.

“Why do _you_ care?”

Yugyeom went limp where he was hanging over Jinyoung’s neck, however, although Jinyoung was caught off guard a second ago, he is certainly someone who knows how to play cool.

“ _Oh_ ,” he bites his lower lip in amusement, “when I think about it, I really _don’t._ ”

The short dramatic pause he then invoked gave him just enough time to catch a weird, masochistic (or sadistic?) grin on Jaebum’s face, the boy seeming to also take delight in the teasing, despite it maybe being somewhat too awkward for Jinyoung’s taste.

Briskly, Jinyoung turns on his heel with an intention of not lingering around any longer, Yugyeom barely catching himself on his feet as he loses balance, tip-toeing around him as he stuffs his bag with his equipment in few rough movements of his arm. He doesn’t bother dusting the bag before throwing it over his shoulder and he elegantly storms out through the gate door, satisfied he successfully resisted looking back and checking if Jaebum’s eyes followed.

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

“This is seriously getting annoying.”

“Yugyeomah,” Jinyoung tips his head back over the armrest, not wanting to look at the boy and pained from the secondhand embarrassment. “It’s been two weeks. If you don’t shut up about this I’ll hit you on the head, _hard_.”

With a limp and not too intimidating swing of his racket, he shoves half-empty threats in Yugyeom’s face, but the youngster doesn’t give them much attention.

“Yes, I know, but we’re only here at the club on Fridays and Saturdays, so it doesn’t count,” Yugyeom then keeps on blabbering, ”and he’s still here, every time, even despite your little incident back then — doesn’t that tell you something?”

“It tells me you should stop binge-watching drama TV shows every _Sunday_ ,” Jinyoung answers coldly, shifting his legs where they were bent over the opposite armrest of the modern and, if used correctly, comfortable balcony chair.

His head tips back again, him now staring at the sky above. It was a sundering color grey, clouds only broken apart at certain and oddly regular parts which all smoldered a blinding white, and Jinyoung even felt trickles of rain on the tip of his nose.

“It’s... just... _weird,_ ” the youngster insists. Jinyoung constantly has to remind himself the boy seated on the coffee table across from him is only seventeen years old, his eighteenth birthday coming up in merely few weeks, and that much more than those few weeks will take for him to mature and be able to hold an actual conversation with an adult. On the contrary, Jinyoung also keeps ignoring the fact that he, naïvely, saw himself as an adult ever since he lost his virginity at age sixteen.

“I don’t really care,” Jinyoung mumbles, changing his position slightly again. “I’m used to people staring at me, really.”

It wasn't a front. Be it his looks or his status, Jinyoung always noticed his presence dragging around everyone’s attention in the room. The experience was so intense it almost felt solid, and although it brought butterflies to his stomach, he also, sometimes, felt them sticking to his insides.

Remembering the last time he felt like he had a garden in his belly instead of these raking winds, he feels a shiver snap up his spine and immediately forces himself to sit up in the chair, getting proper support. The back of his knees feel achy and funny and he has to stretch them out. The action distracts him and his thoughts wander wild and mean as usual.

“Why are you so stuck on him anyway?” he asks, already unsure of what he is trying to say. “Because everyone calls him a weirdo? Does that make it interesting?”

“ _Everyone?_ ” Yugyeom laughs, picking up Jinyoung’s sudden fidgeting nature. “If I recall correctly, it was _you_ who called him lame for not wanting to socialize with anyone.”

Another truth.

“I just wanted all of us to be friends,” Jinyoung then pouts, looking away. “Not my fault he was giving everyone a hard time for no actual reason.”

Yugyeom leans back onto his long arms and laughs a quick, lively scoff. “Maybe so.”

That remark earns him a trademark Jinyoung glare.

“You don’t agree?”

“Look,” Yugyeom slides away in a defense-is-the-best-offence manner, “I’m not saying anything. Especially not saying that the guy isn’t a complete wacko.”

Jinyoung relaxes for a moment, but it doesn’t give him expected comfort.

Meanwhile, Yugyeom looks sly. Before Jinyoung could read his face, the boy opens his mouth:

“Just that it would be hilarious if it somehow ends up that he has a crush on you.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, though an undetectable second late.

“You’re seriously the worst,” he growls as he throws his racket over the coffee table only briefly aiming for the kid, Yugyeom already jumping up and off with a feral laugh filling the brewing air.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

“Look at his tan! It’s been a _month_!”

Jinyoung senses all of his friends throwing curious looks at his bare skin and suddenly his usual white polo shirt and white short trousers feel overexposing, as if the contrast of colors itself wasn’t bringing enough attention.

He wants to say something about it, but doesn’t have strength to bring himself to do so. He instead continues throwing the tennis ball against the wall opposing him, the game of catch entertaining and easing his wistful boredom for an hour straight now. Yugyeom and the others were being too busy spreading rumors and setting up plans for the upcoming big party, all until someone decided the new topic of the conversation would be Jinyoung’s little sunbathing memorabilia.

“Wait, where’s his tan line? I wanna see it.”

Jinyoung sighs, looking over at his friends making a ruckus on the small balcony, all of their eyes laid on him only. He sees Mark and Bambam quietly examining him, but is late to catch sight of Yugyeom and Youngjae already walking over and gets to stumble into an unstable crouching position before he is grabbed by the forearms.

He yelps, annoyed and disbelieving that this is happening to him, his clothes being pushed around by the hems if not stripped halfway, and he tries fighting off Yugyeom’s strong hold on him and Youngjae’s nosy hands. However, despite being young, Yugyeom is a much larger boy than he is, and Youngjae, for some reason, showed himself to be far too eager in his nosiness for anyone’s good.

Whatever comments and conclusions Youngjae made when he found what everyone seemed to be looking for got severely muted in his ears when he looked up and met stares with no one other than _Im Jaebum_ , the dangerous eyes abandoning book pages for the _let’s-completely-embarrass-Jinyoung-hyung_ event. Jinyoung, after being let go by Yugyeom, felt all the blood in his arms rushing to his cheeks, him blushing hard no matter how much he hated it happening, hated feeling like this in front of the boy sitting cross-legged and at an inadequate distance. Luckily, his balance is strong and he manages to gracefully pull himself from the half-crowing position into a full standing one, although his posture wasn’t that proud as before.

The body automatically creating a diversion, Jinyoung steps over to his group with some revengeful slaps on the back and hits on the head, scolding the young boys and complaining to the eldest one among them, although Mark didn’t show any emotion other than pleased approval. He still sensed the far-sitting boy’s gaze on the nape of his neck and, in order to fog up his fluster, he found himself desperate for any kind of action. Youngjae and Yugyeom made sure to apologize in the meantime, but he doesn’t hear it, and it takes a couple of inside jokes for his mind to finally properly creep back into the convo.

“Jinyoungie, are you okay?” Mark asks quietly at one point, the boy ever so observant, and Jinyoung realizes he should pull himself together.

“Yeah, why? I’m fine,” Jinyoung smiled, immediately after joining in in one of many Bambam’s jokes, and relishes in the loud sound of Youngjae’s laugh.

 

All the noise eventually diminishing, he neatens the newly formed creases on his clothes, quite dissatisfied, and almost looks over to where he knew Im Jaebum was still sitting. He thanks the universe when his gaze instead gets stuck to the tile flooring, nervous thoughts being pulled by gravity and gathering behind his eye sockets.

He makes the decision not to ever look in the boy’s direction again, him feeling a persisting gulf in the dimension behind his back as he continues interacting with his friends and abandoning all his previous attentiveness to Jaebum’s overall existence.

  
  
  
  


The setting sun feels warm on his face as he watches his father talking to another man, most likely a possible business associate, and follows each of their hand gestures where they were standing in the central garden. For some reason, all the motions irked something inside him but he quickly brushes away the sensation with a shrug of his shoulders. He then leans down further and lazier onto the balcony railing and starts studying the wide courtyard with a vacant look in his eyes.

Regardless of it regularly being renovated and enriched with flashier displays of power and wealth, Jinyoung got so used to the distinct landscape design from spending most of his youth within its barriers and developed mostly indifferent feelings towards it. Nevertheless, it’s not all negative thoughts — the experiences and friends he’s made here over the years definitely made the gated community life far more fun, and Jinyoung found himself thankful for being able to fit in ever since his parents first signed up for the elite membership.

Jinyoung, beforehand always reliant on Jackson’s dynamic nature, was worried he wouldn’t be able to make friends on his own and thus was afraid the rejection would seclude him from any possible social activities in the club. The adults might be difficult, but the youngsters are even tougher — Jinyoung saw it with his own eyes when Im Jaebum came along and managed to ruin every one of his chances at respect and a reputation, either accidentally or on purpose; he does not know. In any way, Jinyoung confirmed his theory of permanent seclusion and solely showered the notorious Jaebum with eyes of pity and, only recently, inquisitive questioning.

He’s woken up from his drowsy thoughts when he catches his father waving a hand at him, the stern movement signaling he should meet him at the lower floor and that it is finally time to go home.

Jinyoung never understood why he had to wait for him in the first place, especially with no one here on this lonely balcony, and with a sigh he straightens himself as he turns around and steps out toward the glass door only to find out… that the balcony isn’t as lonely as he had thought.

_Speak of the devil_ , he thinks to himself, and stutters into a still position before even realizing what he’s doing. Jaebum looks up, as if aware of the imminent tension, and their eyes meet yet again though this time Jinyoung did his best not to aimlessly reveal any emotion.

With a casual redirection of his attention to the door and a forward, ambitious stride, Jinyoung gets under the impression that this will somehow pass in an inoffensive manner. However a moment later, when he hears the click of Jaebum’s tongue, he is convinced those events must’ve occurred in an alternate universe.

“Quite an entertainment today, huh?” Jaebum puts out an obvious comment and, with no one around to really take notice of, the curiosity Jinyoung thought he abandoned returns and he can’t resist a chance to try and make his way into pressing the boy’s buttons.

He makes an unashamed step back and flashes a not-too-kind grin at his respondent.

“And you’re still out here _because_?”

“I’m reading,” Jaebum nods, mirroring the way he nudged his book upward. It’s not the first time Jinyoung saw him up close, but if anyone had asked him if Jaebum looked handsome at this moment, he wouldn’t have known what to say.

“ _Ha_ ,” Jinyoung lets out dry and disappointed at the lack of a witty response. “You should try and live a little,” he adds with a dose of honesty, and slowly steps forward again.

He is interrupted with an attack, a firm and a hardcover object hitting his biceps, and he almost stumbles over as he regains his footing and along the way catches the projectile. It now situated firmly in his hands, he realizes it is a book.

“You should try and _read_ a little,” Jaebum smiles laid back and looking over from his chair, the book pile on the table in front of him missing a title.

An ugly laugh explodes in Jinyoung’s throat, but the chuckle is genuine and from the heart, and something he isn’t unwilling to acknowledge.

“You know what? I just might,” Jinyoung smiles wider but also naughtier, with a playful shake of the book in his hand.

“And if you decide to live,” he adds before stepping through the balcony door, “come by Bambam’s party this Sunday. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

He didn't wait for Jaebum’s reply as he continued walking, but he heard the young man’s low laugh as he turned away and to the inside.

 

 

 

 


	2. the pearl appetite

 

 

 

 

 

It was a somnolent Sunday afternoon and Jinyoung was lying reclined on his bed, one half of his room kept conventionally displayed by natural light and the other shrouded in penumbra. The lukewarm shadows made the ivory walls look as if they were overpainted in powder-grey, and when Jinyoung realized he got distracted by such a fact, his gaze redirected itself to his closet and focused on the attire that, using a wooden hanger, stood suspended from one of the handles. It was one of the nicer suits in his wardrobe, but also one of the most recent ones; he still distinctly remembers receiving it for his birthday in a decent-sized black box, his trained eyes immediately recognizing the _Prada_ logotype and enjoying the simplicity. The packaging only mirrored the content, and Jinyoung now admired the simple design of the suit — all-black fabric cut and sewn in perfect, gracious places, chest canvassed and fitting him almost _disturbingly_ well. He had already tried it on and decided it was the perfect outfit for the occasion, the only choice left being whether he should wear a bold tie, or rather tie a silken ribbon around the collar.

The _occasion_ , of course, had been the party everyone’s been buzzing about for a whole week now — it happening this very night, he was drowning in various notification tones; every vibration draining his phone’s battery and leaving him with a shimmery feeling of boredom. The repeated tap of his index finger sliding down the glassy screen, closing group chat after group chat, creates a dull sound that only increases his restlessness and he hastily locks the device. He leaves it lying on one of the many satiny pillows by rolling away to the bottom of the mattress, almost forcedly kittenish. He then stretches his body out, hoping the activity will somehow ultimately uplift his mood, and he’s almost _there_ when one of his wrists brushes against something solid and foreign. A few confused blinks, he brings himself up using his elbows and looks over, getting a visual.

“Oh,” he silently breathes, realizing it’s the book Jaebum threw at him the other day.

With a careful touch, he traces the thick edges covering the book. It’s a smooth surface, and the minimalistic white that graced most of the exterior gave it an even purer aura, which brought an odd feeling to his fingertips. A strange illustration — dark tone composition of human figures — humbly decorated the front, and above it was the title written in a meek font.

 _The Great Gatsby,_ he almost reads outloud, drawing his lips in a long line the moment he caught himself mouthing the words. His eyebrows tense up too, him unsure whether he should really spend leisure time on a ... _gift_ like this.

Still...  _curiosity_ is what _kills_ the cat and who is he to be an exception?

Opening the book, his face distraitly relaxes as he skips through first few pages of either preface or foreword (or both? _Who even reads these?_ he thinks) and presses an open palm against the first page of the first chapter. With a sense of cautious calm, he reads the first line.

And then he reads the second line.

And then another one.

And he reads many many more; until sentences turn into paragraphs, and paragraphs turn into pages, and all until a friendless book is gripped tightly by a pair of avid hands.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_It’s a party all right,_ Jinyoung thinks to himself.

Probably way too many people showed up at Bambam’s so-called mansion, so many that Jinyoung wondered if Bambam had actually sent out invitations or just drove around college campus yelling out his home address, but at least it made a fun counting game as he strolled down the long halls — a game where Jinyoung would take a good sip out of his personal wine bottle every time he saw a girl or a boy whose identity he couldn’t even begin to guess. Mark used to be his companion in the distraction, however, along the way the boy’s interest fell through in favor of a lady’s flirty approach and Jinyoung was forced to continue walking on his own; seeking strangers’ dirty looks only to ignore them in an odd act of power play. At one point, he gets tired of both the walking and this persistent smoke gushing at him from an unknown direction so he steps aside in order to lean onto a double door frame. Uncertain of what he should do next, he brings the heavy bottle hanging in his right hand to a readable point and starts analyzing the label just to pass the time. The lettering of its name he finds quite impressive, though he couldn’t dare to try and pronounce it. It makes him wish he had taken at least one French class back in his first year, and he ponders what his life would be like if he was someone good at spoken word and digesting languages.

“I _fancy_ your outfit,” a familiar voice snaps him out of his far too mellow thoughts, and he looks over to see its face.

The host of the party nods his head in form of a greeting, though Jinyoung’s eyes were already all over the boy’s ensemble — a starry, glimmering jacket accompanied by a large, decorous bow; all in muted black and Bambam’s trademark brand.

“Why thank you,” he says honest words yet in a similar tongue-in-cheek way. “I fancy yours too. _Saint Laurent_?”

“Latest _,_ ” the host smiles wide and sports a fashionable pose, presenting himself. He then gives Jinyoung’s body another quick glance, and pops the question.

“ _Prada_?”

Jinyoung looks down at his suit and white button up, and a hint of satisfaction crawls up his lungs. He is glad he chose the ribbon styling, since the tie option struck him as a bit funereal earlier.

“Sure thing,” Jinyoung laughs, looking away and taking a long chug of his wine.

 

The conversation strikes up and Jinyoung starts having fun again. He gets to ask Bambam all the questions he had about his three-floor residence, the boy telling him every fun fact and anecdote that came across his mind regarding the subject, and they also discuss the brand new hearsay with some heartfelt chuckles occurring along the way. Jinyoung always had a certain level of respect for the youngster, either for his sense of humor or simply for his entrepreneur tendencies in the way he talks.

“Ah, this is empty already,” Jinyoung expresses mid-chat, him unimpressed as he spins his wine bottle by its neck and bends down, leaving it to stand abandoned on the polished parquetry.

“Oh. Oh my god,” Bambam utters suddenly, gaze fixed at something behind Jinyoung’s back.

“Oh my god _what_?” Jinyoung laughs, glancing at his face and acknowledging something between anger and disgust in his stare.

“Oh he _didn’t_ ,” the boy responds, skipping on an answer.

“ _Who_ didn’t _what_?” Jinyoung asks as he straightens and yet, realizing Bambam might be too distracted to explain himself, decides to instead simply look over his shoulder and down the wide hallway.

Turning in a slightly too-drunk-to-be-discreet way, his field of vision quickly moves and creates a blur of space and time and it takes him a moment to properly anchor it — however, when he does, all his pupils gulp down amongst the crowd is a dolled up figure standing by the stairwell.

 

He almost doesn’t recognize the boy, not when the boy was clad in a sweet polka-dot button-up, his wide shoulders hugged by an elegant black suit and his hair swept back over his forehead; even some makeup being noticeable around his sharp eyes, it being copper brown and reminding Jinyoung of sugary cinnamon.

 

Identifying the name far from beyond his ken, Jinyoung eyes both the shirt and silk scarf hanging loose around Im Jaebum’s neck.

“Doesn’t everybody know that _Saint Laurent_ is your thing?” he bursts out laughing, tipsy, the crinkles at the sides of his eyes filled with foggy happiness.

“Doesn’t seem like _he_ does,” Bambam scoffs, his heeled boot making a noise as he taps his foot out of displeasure. Obviously irritated, he changes his posture yet again and crosses his arms.

“ _Who the fuck_ invited him anyway?”

Jinyoung feels a dubious, guilty chuckle rising up his trachea.

“ _I_ did,” he answers with a laugh, and leaves Bambam to to process the information on his own by leaving his space and carefully stepping out towards the book-throwing boy.

 

If Jaebum felt strung up by this approach, he managed to bury the body clues while Jinyoung was busy avoiding a number of passers-by. All Jinyoung _got_ as he now stood that final stride away from him was a phlegmatic expression on his face, body also standing firm and stolid. However, the eye contact that followed surprisingly made Jinyoung’s legs feel like butter in a hot pan, and he caught himself licking his lips before he spoke.

“You’re here?” he faintly blurts out and it definitely doesn’t come off as nonchalant as he had hoped.

“...Apparently?” Jaebum responds with barely opening his mouth.

Jinyoung would feel like slapping the sarcasm off the boy’s face if at the moment that same face hadn’t struck him as stupefyingly handsome, Jaebum’s hair styled and revealing his otherwise hidden features — sharp and thick eyebrows, two beauty spots enchasing his left eyelid, an uniquely shaped nose; they create a harmony that never seemed to have been noticed before.

 _I’m just being pissed and horny_ , he then thinks, automatically regretting his alcohol intake.

Whereas Jinyoung was busy addressing his own thoughts, Jaebum showed his first signs of uneasiness: the boy’s palms slid up and down the sides of his thighs in a stressy manner, and Jinyoung’s eyes followed. An observation of _his hands are small_ pops up in his head and he feels bizarre for noticing something like that.

When he looks back up and sees Jaebum still looking back at him, a certain tension rises up in the air, one he now felt an urge to dispel since maybe they’ve been standing far too close for far too long, and maybe it’s been going on in front of far too many people, and maybe it’s been making Jinyoung far too lured and intrigued for his personal well being.

 _You’re late_ is what he tries to speak next but his cheeky breath gets interrupted by a shoulder ramming into his own, a strong build intruding and instantly readying his mouth with some ugly, drunken words of discontent. However, before he gets a chance at spilling them, he stumbles to the side harder than he expected and his tongue presses hard against his teeth when he feels an arm catching him, Jaebum’s fingers curling around his forearm and making his thoughts stutter. Red-cheeked, he doesn't muster the courage to steal a glimpse of Jaebum’s own reaction, so he turns over to look at the person who almost knocked him over and his jaw drops open in surprise when he realizes it’s a friendly face.

“Jinyoung!” the tall boy gets alarmed, grabbing him by the wrist with a pull and Jinyoung gulps a rough inhale when he feels Jaebum quickly letting go of his other arm.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” the boy then continues with a determined look on his face, barely acknowledging Jaebum’s presence. “Youngjae’s dead wasted, the kid’s been puking everywhere and he keeps asking for you, I mean... It’s really a mess.”

“That fucking idiot, I told him not to—” Jinyoung murmurs, already imagining the hassle, but before he gets to say or do anything else his wrist gets hauled harder and this time with a direction.

“You _gotta_ come, let’s go” is practically yelled into Jinyoung’s ear and he has no other option but to let his whole body be manhandled into walking through the closest door, thus leaving Jaebum to stand alone by the stairwell and silently watch his presence disappear from the room.

  
  
Something in Jinyoung’s chest feels leaden as soon as he’s dragged through the crowd and, for the first time in many months, the weight seems somewhat out of place.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It takes a certain amount of time to properly clean up (after) and calm his poor friend Youngjae, and more than one hour slips easily before Jinyoung’s eyes.

 

As soon as he had the boy resting hydrated in one of Bambam’s vacant bedrooms and not attached to his own waist via a circle of tired arms, mumbling sleepy whines of _hyung I really shouldn’t have done that_ and _I’m sorry I’ll never ever drink again_ , Jinyoung made the effort of attempting to return to where he left off.

But for all his enthusiasm, no matter which room he entered and scoped with greedy eyes, the person of his interest never seemed to be there. Consequently, he was forced to stand jaded with both hands enveloped around his plastic cup — every now and then sipping the champagne someone poured for him, despite it being rather regrettable on his tongue — and listen to various chit-chat about latest trends or scandals, every single one raced through his ears already a week prior, repeating and repeating itself as if it hadn’t already a thousand times and in a most monotone way, keeping him as weary as ever.

“What’s gotten into you, hyung?” Yugyeom halts his mental discourse seemingly out of nowhere, but Jinyoung remembers they were actually in the middle of a convo before he got sidetracked.

“Nothing, Yugyeomie,” he states. “Just thinking about how shitty this champagne tastes.”

“You haven’t been listening to me at all, haven’t you?”

Too lazy for insincerity, he doesn’t even bother to answer.

“Wow, when’d you get so annoying?” the young boy then asks, more in a form of soliloquy than an actual question, and shakes his head in a lack of understanding. He then lays his back onto one of the pillows where the two of them were unwinding together on a divan, while Jinyoung stayed seated with his hands occupied, them rearranging a set of half-empty glasses that was placed on the low table before him.

“You know what’s your deal?” Yugyeom suddenly speaks up again, straightening and bringing himself closer to Jinyoung's left ear.

“You really need to get _laid_.”

Jinyoung, stunned, dissolves into laughter at once, the sound possibly embarrassingly loud but mercifully censored by the beat playing from surrounding speakers.

“Get laid? _Seriously?_ And that would solve all my problems?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Yugyeom continues, “ever since Wonpil hyung broke up with you, you’ve been acting like the world is ending. I’ve been waiting for you to get over it but it’s been three months already. Or _more_? Doesn’t even matter, man, it’s time to stop moping—”

  
The words _Wonpil_ and _broke up with you_ echoes in his liquored up mind and he has to forcibly shake them off, his eyelids pressing hard together and his fingers massaging his temples as the rest of Yugyeom’s speech obscures in the background. Hearing it whole would surely be a laughable thing, but Jinyoung felt too befogged at the moment to endure it. Simply, despite Yugyeom being a great friend with a cute set of ethics, the boy was too young — quite unable to understand where Jinyoung was coming from and unable to comprehend that all of last summer was never really about sex, never about rejection, nor about love. _Was it ever even love?_ Jinyoung would still think, every interaction of his and Wonpil’s replaying over and over in his head like a silent film set to a soundtrack of not organ symphonies but running water in his shower room.

 

_Will intimacy ever find me?_

 

“—everyone’s been telling me he has a new boyfriend, though I did hear a few people saying it’s actually a girlfriend, so I don’t really know who to believe now, but—”

“Wait, what?” Jinyoung, stirred, punctuates Yugyeom’s sentence.

“Yeah, I know, amazing shit, huh?” Yugyeom just laughs, this time unaware of Jinyoung’s attention displacement. “But anyways, a lot of people saw Wonpil hyung walking around holding hands with someone — kissing, smooching, _whatever_ — I just still haven’t found out who it is exactly.”

It’s not precisely a sword through the heart, but it sure as hell feels like it.

“Why are you telling me this, Yugyeomah?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Yugyeom asks, seeming perplexed. “If anyone should know it would be you, hyung.”

“ _Actually_ ,” Jinyoung sighs, “I’d rather not hear about it.”

Yugyeom, still baffled, slides his position closer to the edge of the divan. “What do you mean?”

“Do I really have to explain myself?” Jinyoung cackles dryly.

“Hyung, I’m just saying — the guy’s moving on and I see no reason for you not to do the same—”

“I’m really,” Jinyoung now grins sour, “I’m really _not_ having this conversation right now.”

“Hyung, don’t—”

“Shouldn’t you go and chase some skirts or something?” he then barks in a laugh. “Just do your thing and leave me the fuck alone.”

Yugyeom, now openly facing the ill temper in Jinyoung’s eyes, shows some reluctance in his bearing. In spite of that, his intoxicated state lets the gossipy core of his being win over and the young boy ends up opening his mouth.

“You’re—” he starts, but immediately gets cut off by Jinyoung.

“If you don’t shut up about this I’m gonna—”

“Gonna do what?” Yugyeom now asks, eager to know.

At this point, Jinyoung gets fairly impressed with the performance of alcohol and adrenaline, since it only takes him a small shuffle of limbs and a simple swing of his arm to land a punch on Yugyeom’s left cheek, his clenched fist roaring an ache as soon as his knuckles tip over the strong bone and dip into the eye socket, and he watches the boy fall backwards into his seat in slow motion with a sense of awe respiring in the rear of his chest. The next second, a commotion rises up among the present individuals despite the loud music thickened atmosphere and it feels as if all sensory faculties started collapsing at once.

Jinyoung, open mouthed, thinks _okay I’m way too drunk, and maybe he is too, so maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but? What the fuck_ as he stands up with unsteady legs, his eyes barely focused on Yugyeom lying down with a palm splayed across his, now probably sore, pretty face. A few person shaped silhouettes gather around the youngster, Jinyoung’s stunt pull gaining attention, and he decides he should make the effort of leaving the scene while everyone holds the victim under the spotlight and not the _assailant_.

 _Shit, why did I do that,_ his thoughts race again with his heart thumping against all of his ribs and he stumbles backwards, not even sure when or how he then achieved to turn around and start sprinting — he just knew his feet alternately rose in the air and landed on the floor, each motion getting him farther from the booming bass that now blared into his ear with such intensity it felt as if it could wake the dead. It’s a haze, but it doesn’t stop him from drifting from one room to another, one long hallway after another, all until his legs manage to get him down a flight of stairs and he lands with a head-splitting stagger a few short moments later.

Nevertheless, before he even decides it’s safe to stop running, his blurry and diverted eyesight teeters him right into someone’s wide and warm chest.

“Hey, _woah_ ,” it’s a known deep voice as he crashes into flesh, and Jinyoung swallows his gasp when Jaebum grabs him by the biceps tightly and doesn’t let go.

“Hi,” he wheezes kind of stupid in response as he looks up, his senses gradually kicking back up.

“Are you okay?” the boy asks, but Jinyoung just can’t figure out how genuine it is.

“I—” he goes to say _anything_ , yet stops himself when he hears clamor approaching from the upper floor.

“Jinyoung hyung! Come over and have a little chat with me, _will you!?_ ” Yugyeom can be heard howling through the house, and Jinyoung decides that his anger is not something he feels like dealing with at the moment.

“Crap,” the swear comes out of his mouth, and he finds himself pulling Jaebum by the lapel of his nice suit with a hefty yank.

 Jaebum doesn’t protest much, if not _at all_ , when Jinyoung heaves him into one of the shadowed niches along the wall, the two of them pressed together inside the tiny space beside an extraordinary sculpture, one which was designed in such a way that Jinyoung would’ve taken an actual notice of it if he wasn’t already over-concerned with his persistent thoughtless actions.

“Fuck, sorry,” is what comes out of his mouth the moment his fists relax and let go. Still, neither does he move his wrists from Jaebum’s chest, nor does the boy unwrap the arms he had around Jinyoung.

“It’s alright—” Jaebum says with an airy smile on his face and gets interrupted when Jinyoung jumps, him realizing Yugyeom just walked right past them in a stormy manner and that they stood undetected.

When he glances at Jaebum’s face again, he sees his eyes trailing after Yugyeom where he disappeared down the hall, but it doesn’t last long as the boy quickly shifts his focus back to Jinyoung.

 _Probably because of all that wine_ is what Jinyoung thinks when he allows himself to get shy and look downwards, his eyes beholding a gold _Versace_ chain that graced and hung low on Jaebum’s chest. The shine entertains him for a moment and it brings a breather from trying to figure out what he should do about the fact that he ended up in a close encounter situation like this.

“Is your hand okay?” the deep voice asks, and only then does Jinyoung realize his right hand is throbbing with pain.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung looks back up, chuckling as he stretches his fingers to reduce shaking and numbness. “I did something… really bad.”

Connecting the dots, the boy laughs openly, and Jinyoung sees Jaebum’s teeth for the first time.

“I see,” the boy then says under his breath, it being so muffled Jinyoung finds it ...cute.

 _Had Jaebum been drinking too?_ he wonders. _Seems like it,_ he concludes when he feels Jaebum’s palms start steadily sliding down his arms.

“So,” he then speaks, him backing off just as an indication of his words. “I should probably go.”

Jaebum’s gaze grows hectic as it follows every Jinyoung’s move while he distances himself.

“ _Unless_ ,” Jinyoung then adds, pausing.

 

“...You feel like playing some hide and seek with me?”

 

The gaze they share in that short moment brings hotness to Jinyoung’s face and, when Jaebum finally lets go of him, a little one-corner smile and the shrug of the boy’s wide shoulders seem to bring a silent response to his offer.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


After a short while of wandering around the ground floor and stealthily browsing interesting doors, they find themselves in the basement, which was most likely deserted due to the eerie, heavy air that circled enclosed by walls. It doesn’t feel that dense in Jinyoung’s lungs though, and he opts for the least chamber-like room in the complex as his new hiding place.

 _Knowing Yugyeom_ , Jinyoung thinks a bit sobered up, _he’ll lurk around trying to find me for the rest of the night. So I should just keep it low for a while._ His own reflection makes him chuckle a little as he closes the door behind Jaebum and himself, him turning around in more or less complete darkness before diffused lamplight delineates some furniture and hence gives out indicators that what they just entered is an office.

In the far corner and in between the feeble lamp and a leather couch, Jinyoung sees Jaebum moving his hand away from the light switch and reaching out upwards — the boy traces fingertips down many spines that were lined down and along the bookcase as he stands quiet, the only sound in the air being Jinyoung’s footsteps.

“Prefer books over friends?” Jinyoung mischievously comments as he squats down next to a dark-wood cupboard and opens its doors. A sudden realization that him and Jaebum have been exchanging friendly glimpses and phrases for the past few hours (or more?) hits him hard and his throat swells with discomfort.

“It depends,” Jaebum replies coolly and with an amused smile as he continues examining book titles.

“Well,” Jinyoung articulates, “for me, personally, having a friend is all about—” he then pauses with a grunt as his arm blindly digs around the inside of the cupboard, the silence uninterrupted all until his fingers grasp the cold surface he was looking for “—finding out where their father keeps his _liquor_.”

A chunky bottle in his hand and not hidden within the wooden confinement, Jinyoung grins wide. He notices Jaebum looking at him with a mirrored expression, and it takes them less than a second to slump onto the low couch; both of them more in a lying position rather than a sitting one.

Taking a mouthful of the distilled spirit, he makes a delicate grimace at the flavor as he swallows before handing it to Jaebum who was seated next to him, the boy’s head rested on the leather cushion and watching Jinyoung cockeyed.

It’s a silence, but not an uncomfortable one as they share the drink, although Jinyoung does wonder whether the way that their knees were touching burdened Jaebum’s mind the same way it burdened his.

  
They’ve barely reached the last quarter of the bottle’s volume when Jinyoung senses a certain type of warmth spreading through his body. He shifts his position, now more facing Jaebum’s body, and crosses his legs in a cosy way.

“Hey, hyung,” he says, aware that his voice attained that purry tone.

Jaebum doesn’t show any token of listening as he plays with the bottle — he seemed absorbed in the way liquid splashed against the glass as he moved it — though it doesn’t stop Jinyoung from carrying on.

“I know that you’ve been watching me from the balcony.”

It’s a bold statement, and even if it doesn’t make Jaebum look up, it surely does make his hands freeze in place.

“ _Huh_ ,” Jaebum breathes, and Jinyoung does notice it’s a bit shaky. “Ain’t _that_ a bold state—”

“I _know_ it is,” Jinyoung then moves closer, somewhat more confident now that he seems to have pushed the boy against his corner. Jaebum, in not so subtle avoidance, moves himself forward and away as he puts down on the table and frees himself from the glass object. Yet, Jinyoung gets surprised when he witnesses him drop right back onto the couch pillows, emitting only a small amount of restlessness.

“See, hyung, I remember just how _vocal_ you were about not wanting to be part of any of our sports teams,” Jinyoung continues, his intoxication adding to his usual mean eloquence, “ _trash-talking_ everyone who _did_ and — what did you call them? _Petty bourgeoisie_ ? If I recall correctly — and so, now, you want me to believe you suddenly developed a passionate interest in ... _tennis_?”

If Jaebum felt like saying anything to this, he hadn’t made the effort of doing so.

On the other hand, _Jinyoung_ , very drunk and now very smug, makes the decision of dedicating this long night to pushing boundaries

“I mean,” he keeps going as his one knee throws itself over Jaebum’s thighs, “I only _thought_ you were watching me until everyone around me started pointing it out,” he pulls up on his knees quite casually with hands on Jaebum’s shoulders, the boy silent but obviously having trouble breathing and keeping his eyes on Jinyoung’s face, “and then I got _sure_ , so, hyung,” he finally leans down, the two of them making eye-contact as Jinyoung’s stare stopped absentmindedly wandering around while he sat himself in Jaebum’s lap.

“ _Do you like what you see?_ ”

 Jaebum doesn’t really respond yet, at least not with sound, his eyes instead blown and dark and his palms starting to cautiously creep up Jinyoung’s thighs where they were astride his lap and Jinyoung has to suppress a humiliating whimper when the boy digs his fingers in their thickest parts.

He almost whispers _please kiss me, fuck_ before Jaebum grabs him by the waist and roughly pulls himself forward into a hot kiss, their lips already warmed up and wet from drinking, and it feels like fireworks exploding up his spine as they get to know each other with each brush and press.

“Yeah,” the boy breathes mid teasing lip bites. “Yeah, I _do_.”

It’s been a long time since Jinyoung was last held like this, and he catches himself clasping the boy’s shoulders in a far too enjoying way — especially when Jaebum gets daring and reaches underneath his jacket to grip his hips only over the thin material of his button-up. He barely resists the urge to seize the boy by the neck and show him just _how_ he likes it, though he doesn’t dismiss the thought completely.

Their breaths continually collide as they introduce tongues, the boy exploring his mouth a little shy at first, and Jinyoung finds it sweet until he gets a full taste as Jaebum pushes closer and deeper. Now he felt a heavy heat in between his legs, and as he shifts them slightly he feels a jerk and a low moan coming from Jaebum’s body. It makes him edgy, and he gasps for more tongue in between kisses while Jaebum’s hands were busy sliding over his hips and down to his ass, squeezing tightly over the bare layer of Jinyoung’s dress pants and making him half hard.

As if gifted with a sixth sense, Jaebum’s left hand finds its way to Jinyoung’s crotch, grabbing his length and inducing a loud whine; he keeps on touching him while his other hand goes around and busies itself with unbuttoning his pants, Jinyoung’s fingers stumbling upon and desperately latching onto his scarf in both pleasure and plea. When his fly opens wide and the boy starts rubbing him over his briefs a long, moany whimper travels from Jinyoung’s to Jaebum’s mouth, and he feels the boy’s hips move towards his. The sultry friction makes his every thought flutter before melting into a unified feeling of _oh my God, I want more_ and his hands slip from the silk in order to slide through Jaebum’s hair and try and feel all of the strands but as soon as he grasps a little too hard, a keen sting spreads from his knuckles down to his wrists and further up his arm and he can’t help but wince.

As he pulled his aching hand away, Jaebum made some space between them so he could give Jinyoung’s face an interrogating glance, however Jinyoung just urged him to _keep going_ and moved back closer for more lip action.

The boy having other plans, Jinyoung instead gets shoved at the chest and his arms bend back in a flurry as he catches himself on Jaebum’s knees for support. They share another intense stare before Jaebum’s fingers wrap themselves around the thin ribbon around Jinyoung’s collar and pull, painfully slow, in a way that made Jinyoung feel like a present being unwrapped, the choke around his throat releasing but his gut tightening and he bites his lower lip in favor of dampening down a filthy groan.

His ass rolling down against a hard length and Jaebum’s fingers dipping into his underwear for another undressing manoeuvre, Jinyoung feels his heart swimming amid his lungs as he watches the boy’s eyes focused on his crotch, the handsome but soft looking cheeks flushed red as temperature rose infinitely high on the leather couch, and his attention trails after a sweat drop that slowly slid down Jaebum’s jaw.

With an unceremonious grab and pull, the boy starts jerking Jinyoung off, his hand spit-slick and rough and turning Jinyoung’s brain inside out, each sensation bringing a stronger grip of Jaebum’s knees and a soreness of his right hand but he doesn’t mind — not when he felt enthroned on this lap and worshiped by means of a handjob.

“Shit, should we be doing this here?” he breathes as his gut seethes with a gradual orgasm build up, its sobering effect bringing some clearer thinking.

“I don’t know,” Jaebum draws a breath, “this is so— fuck —you’re so—”

Jinyoung doesn't let him find the word by slamming their lips together in a hungry kiss, his continuous moans droning in between breaths as they made out and Jaebum jerked him off, now faster and tighter and bringing him close to the edge.

Their tongues engaged with playfully reaching out to taste each other, Jinyoung comes to a decision to return the favor and his expert hands make way and start undoing the boy’s belt;  he relishes in the sweet groan Jaebum murmured against his mouth as soon as he got his not pained palm wrapped around his dick. Some clumsy strokes are a given since it’s not his dominant hand, although the boy didn’t seem to mind — for what it’s worth, he appeared to be in heaven over just a few dry fondles. _Or am I just imagining all this? None of this seems real,_ Jinyoung then thinks, yet the notions get muddy and fade away when Jaebum’s touches become far too good in far too many instances at once.

“Hyung,” he pants, not even keeping in the whines anymore, every jerk of his body and movement of his hips issued by the way the boy was handling him. “Hyung, I’m close,” he adds with a short kiss at Jaebum’s lips, and he hears him grunt a low moan before starting to rustle something with his free hand.

Jinyoung leans away to see what he is doing, and when he sees him unbuttoning his shirt bit rushed, a wave of shudder hits his body at the exposed skin shown for his eyes only.

“Go on,” the boy breathes, his eyes darkened and heavy. “ _Do it_.”

Something about Jaebum implying he should come on his chest and abs tastes like a punch in the gut, and when the boy’s hand quickens with resolve Jinyoung chokes up, his face falling in to steal a hopeless bite of Jaebum’s lower lip as his whole body tenses.

Was it the alcohol or whether Jaebum really did touch him in all the right places, Jinyoung doesn’t know — he was too dazed by all the stars he saw when he came, the burdening heat he was steeped in abruptly leaving his frame and so he leans away to obtain some breathing space; again finding support on the boy’s knees.

“Oh my god,” he inhales-exhales, his cheeks much rosier than before and glowing with sweat.

It’s a _short_ moment of calm, seeing that whereas Jinyoung was closing his eyes in a sigh, Jaebum was dragging a palm through the cum dripping down his skin and bringing it to his cock in order to now jerk himself off.

It feels like the Earth had stopped orbiting the moment Jinyoung opens his eyes and sees Jaebum tipping his head back in pleasure as he works himself to orgasm using Jinyoung’s cum — his long, thick throat contracts on a deep moan as he comes on the spot Jinyoung already marked just minutes ago, and right for his eyes to behold.

 _Holy shit_ muddles in Jinyoung’s mind at a lack of appropriate words, him noticing that whatever’s going on in his torso right now feels more like a tremor than a heartbeat.

The planet definitely seems like it was deprived of orbit as Jinyoung loses more and more sense of gravity where he was sitting on Jaebum’s lap, him watching the boy’s throat flex on every deep gulp of air in a pretty rhythm. Despite his hair being plastered to his forehead due the newfound humidity in the room, dampness in his sleeves and pant legs, he feels severely underdressed so he pulls his briefs and pants back up and zips them back into place.

The boy he still straddled notices, and when his jaw nods forward to look at Jinyoung’s face again, the golden chain flashes a devastating light from his glistening chest.

“Huh?”

Now that the high is over the remaining spirit in his bloodstream makes everything cloggy again, both Jinyoung’s intentions and tongue stammer when he tries to think of something to say — he simply isn’t sure what to think of this situation, no matter how good it felt and how much his instincts asked to do rinse and repeat the action with the boy a dozen times more.

_What do I really even know about this person?_

  
“I’m—” he starts and immediately gets interrupted by loud footsteps and disturbance coming in right through the closed door, and his legs jump on his own when he recognizes the loudest voice being Yugyeom’s.

“Jinyoung hyung? Are you here? If you keep me worrying I’ll just kick your ass harder,” the kid appeared to be still looking for him, now accompanied with a whole group of drunken voices that hollered in an unsettling disharmony.

“ _Shit_ , I gotta,” Jinyoung then barely speaks, the sound splitting in between his teeth as he moves fast and gets off Jaebum’s lap, "I gotta go—" and the boy is now left to watch him leave the room in a clumsy run towards and through the door.

 

Or so he thinks, because he never really turns around to look and find out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for checking out this update! :-3 next chapters should be far shorter but more frequent! hope you stick around!
> 
>    
> will use this moment to express my gratitude to bonnie banane, frank ocean and zebra katz for soundtracking my continuous attempts at writing this


	3. a back to bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see
> 
> found this sort of finished in my docs, edited a bit and decided to publish
> 
> one day might add one last chapter, as goodbye
> 
> much love,
> 
> and as always
> 
> thanks for reading

 

 

  
  
The first few seconds of waking up that Monday morning, everything felt fine to Jinyoung.  
  
When those same seconds quickly passed, his body immediately remembered why everything was actually quite wrong — the kick drum thudding of his head, the dull pain in his muscles.  There was a number of mystery bruises that were either so deep they screamed purple or so fresh they could only be felt when stretched. For a moment, he rolled around devastated and unwilling to get up. The stark taste that spread down his throat made him not want to fully open his eyes even more. Yet, when his mind went through a process of recollection, they snapped open and he gasped. Finally, he sat up, horrified.  
  
_Oh my god_ , Jinyoung thought as he stared at his tequila-soaked dress pants, him realizing he slept in pretty much most of yesterday’s attire.  He doesn’t remember how he got home last night; some glimpses of Mark and the back seat of the older boy’s car occurred in his senses, though it didn't help much. The only memory that had stuck with him had been the one of late dawn pressing down on his eyes moments before he got into his bed. He remembered trying to rub it out of his eyes so he could, hopefully, get some sleep.    
  
Him then barely stumbling out of his bed and into to bathroom to wash his face, he realized it's only the beginning of the roller-coaster ride. As cool water hit and dripped down his jaw, his little hangover cloud faded and he successfully reeled back some of the revenge tequila shots Yugyeom made him drink in some stifling living room corner. Then, when he remembered the black eye Yugyeom earned from him, he sighed a satisfied laugh. However, when the rest of the party’s events — one specifically involving a leather couch, warm kisses and soft bites — came to him and drove him over that slope, the sudden drop immediately made his skin break in cold sweat. He felt dizzy, and held himself standing with his hands on the large sink. Running water distorted the porcelain ornaments as it went down the drain and made his point of view even fuzzier.  
  
_What the hell did I do?_ his mind housed the thought at once, him feeling choked. He reached out to the collar of his shirt to untie the ribbon he had around it but only found his shirt halfway unbuttoned. He also found the strip of silk _completely_ missing and suddenly it felt as if way too many things are misplaced at the same time.

  
  
_How did I... get here?_

 

 

  
He is glad he made Yugyeom pick him up for Bambam’s party the previous night. When Jinyoung opened the front door of his residence thirty minutes late for a class he promised to attend (to Mark, since the boy was too lazy to show up and sign up himself and knew Jinyoung was going to do it anyway), he felt quite thrilled to see his car parked in front of the house.  
  
Quickly getting in, the sunglasses he wore made both the high noon blaze and the dark circles under his eyes more bearable as he absent-mindedly started the engine. Reaching the main road is a routine, and his thoughts now easily revisit the regretful direction he continually and desperately tried to make a U-turn from.  
  
_This is hell. This is actual hell,_ Jinyoung had thought as he steered, wondering whether he could regard all his actions for the past twelve hours as a some kind of an odd dream — it simply wouldn’t have been the first time he dreamed of gorgeous boys and their laps; awakened with a heavy heart and a heavier crotch. However, when his phone buzzed on a text message from Yugyeom saying that his _eye is only looking worse_ , an acidic sensation travelled from his neck and down his spine as he resigned himself to this reality, a reality in which he had made severely bad decisions and had to find a way to somehow live with them. Although he isn’t sure what in the world he’d have to do if by the end of the day Jaebum managed to spread rumors (is it a rumor if it’s the truth?) about the two of them hooking up in the shady basement of Bambam’s well-renowned party house. Nor is he sure whether anyone would actually believe him. Then, out of nowhere, the possibility of Jaebum never even bringing it up hits him clumsily and he wonders how weird it would be if the whole incident just stood hung in the air between them like that.  
  
Though it might be for the best.

  
  
It _has_ to be for the best.

  
  
  


 

 

  
  
Jinyoung, now _forty-five_ minutes late, arrives to the class.  
  
Short of breath, he kept his head low as he opened the doors of the lecture hall, ceremoniously aware of the interruptive nature of his entrance. He nodded at nothing in particular as a way of acknowledging the time and made sure to avoid eye-contact with the professor. He only looked up when his feet got him few steps up the stairs, his gaze focused on finding an empty spot amongst the heavily populated seats. However, instead of landing on an unoccupied wooden back of a chair, his gaze fell on a surprised face.  
  
Although it barely lasts three heartbeats, the lock of his and Jaebum’s eyes felt as if it lasted three _lifetimes_ — he felt the heavy tow of whatever dwells in the vessel of his being suddenly getting weighed down with unknown bones and hearts. Despite being unsure of what the sensation is really about, he is amazed at himself when he accomplishes to tear his gaze away and observe a single free seat few rows underneath the sharp-eyed boy.  
  
He makes his way to take it, carefully avoiding fidgety students  and ignores the chairs screeching in his ears as he moves around. As he sits down, a suspicion in his decision scrapes like a dozen of knives at the back of his skull. A realization hits him that, by settling for this spot so hastily, he just gave Jaebum a luxurious view of not only his obvious embarrassment and panic, but also literally any other action he is about consciously or unconsciously do.  
  
_What is Im Jaebum doing in a business course anyway_ , he then tried to rationalize, annoyed. Petulance drove his hands as he then put his bag on the small desk space before him. Before his irritation got the chance to grow even bigger, he again became hyper-aware of his presence in Jaebum’s stare (or is Jaebum even looking at all? Should he turn around and _check_ ?) and his body freezes in place — eyes blankly falling upon the whiteboard and blinking as he tried to think.  
  
The professor went on and on in the background as Jinyoung got busy with an attempt at figuring out why Jaebum got him so flustered and prone to certain behaviors. Sure, he agrees with himself, thinking how the option of shrugging off the boy right then and there was unavoidable. _But did I have to do it so lamely? Fuck, this sucks._ He’s still in a shock, though he figures he should try and give the introductory lesson even a feeble listen since he’s here, not to mention in a dire need of a distraction.  
  
“—the fourth part of the book, although considered to be a, so-called, _intermezzo_ , is one of the—”  
  
_Wait, what is he talking about_ , Jinyoung bit on his lower lip as he squinted a little and looked around, eyeing for some hints of the topic. His sight lays upon _Western Nineteenth Century Literature_ written down in ugliest black marker on the board; inconsistent ink giving a sour taste yo the otherwise elegant handwriting. _This definitely doesn't sound like a business course_ , he thinks, tired and cranky. Should he go ahead and ask the nearest seated classmate about the situation? He was about to, but decided against it. He cannot. Not when he had this magnetic force positioned few rows above him that kept pulling him by the breath akin to a noose, or rather a harness.  
  
He instead slides his phone out of his pocket and discreetly navigates the home screen.  
  
“No way,” he mumbles quite low as he loads the webpage of the schedule on his phone, the classroom numerals he used to be so sure of now forming a completely new shape, one that indicated that the class he was supposed to be in right now was actually a whole building and three floors away from him.  
  
_It’s just going to get worse from here, huh?_ Jinyoung almost lets out a laugh as he locks the phone and wishes for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Yet, instead of depending on some kind of a _deus ex machina_ , he decides to do something about his situation.

 

Hungover and bothered, Jinyoung stands up. Realizing he already fucked up this much, he figures he has no reason not to grace himself the embarrassment of leaving the class immediately.

 

The chairs next to him screech again, but he keeps his stare focused on the exit door as he scoots out of his row. Ignoring all the eyes on him, and one pair of eyes in particular, he rushes down the stairs pretty stiff. His body relaxes the moment he opens the door, but his legs keep the quickened pace as he wanders out the building and onto the campus park.

  
  


 

 

 

Just a few minutes passed since the incident, and Jinyoung found himself waiting in a row in front of the local coffee shop. His physical state repeatedly called for some caffeine intake, so he decided to get some takeout before giving up on this whole day and going home. His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and his headache told him to use the chance and finally block Yugyeom’s number. When the unlocked phone displayed a message from an unknown contact, however, his jaw kinda dropped.

 

_Why did you leave?_

 

Jinyoung stood there, quite confused, unsure what’s going on. Maybe there was someone else he knew in the class that noticed him.

 

 _Ah, wrong class_ , he replies with an added flustered emoticon, thinking it will cover it.

 

 _No,_ the next immediate text read.

 

_I meant last night._

 

Saying Jinyoung’s heart split in half and dropped down into his soles would be an understatement for the way he felt that in that moment. His hands went numb and started shaking as he stared at the chatroom, frozen. His thumbs hovered over the open keyboard before his teeth ground a little, him feeling so stunned it hurt. Finding no strength for his usual sense of _noblesse oblige_ , he ultimately locked his phone and slid the phone back into his pocket, leaving Jaebum on read.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
